Joel - The inside story
by WonWon101
Summary: Joel is a survivor from the initial waves of infection of the deadly cordyceps virus. With limited resources and almost no one to trust, Joel has to face decisions that will change him forever. This story explores (with potentiality) such decisions Joel would have faced whilst recovering from the loss of his home, his beloved daughter Sarah, and the disbandment between his brother.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Last Of Us, nor do I represent the views of the creators or developers of the game.

Amid the destruction of our past

You stand

A look of anger, a look of fear

The beads of sweat trickling down to your beard

To the tips of your fingers, tracing the trigger,

Unyeilding

The palms of your hands jaded,

Forever crimson from the stains of blood

The blood that remains as a harsh reminder of your guilt

A painting as feverish as the phantasm of Lady Macbeth

The fear that imparts you to anguish

That inflames your transgressions;

Your acts of theft, smuggling and murder

Taking the lives of those undaunted,

And those unloving, unloved, unliving

The lives of the infected.

Joel

Joel admired the scatter of light upon the earth. It upheld a beauty that was only observed in nature. He loved how the sunlight danced on his face, how drops from the waterfall cleansed his hair, how the leaves in Autumn fell from grace, despite the omen of Winter's hasty approach.

Now it was Spring. Swathes of grass protruding from the rubble had birthed clusters of flowers. Fauna flourished in broad daylight, claiming home to the abandoned buildings. For the first time in years, he strolled.

Looking amongst the dilapidated buildings, the flooded streets and the tousles of vegetation growing up the side of houses, Joel was still working on believing this as the world of his reality. How could something so genuine and normal become jarred beyond recognition? His eyes were quick to adjust to the ever-changing tapestry around him; a trait for which he was thankful, and had many a time saved him from danger. Around nature, Joel was in his prime element.

The smell of pine lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of nectar that reminded him of the sweet grass back home. Texas was one of the remaining places that'd remained virtually unchanged since before the array of bombs came raining out of the sky. Of course, it was less abundant in rudiments and people, but on the whole, still discernably Texas. The thought of home only provoked feelings of pain and regret, loss and fear that would often send him into fits of emotional turmoil.

He needed another drink.

Joel was in no short supply of alcohol, what with his growing collection of Molotov cocktails for any malicious particulars who decided to get in his way, but it was now a necessity for survival. To forget the past - even for the briefest of moments - was like lifting the burden that threatened to crush him each passing day. And it wasn't easy.

He produced a bottle of whiskey from his bag, threw his head back and tipped the remaining tablespoon of fiery liquid down his throat.

He strolled amongst the flowers, enjoying the the warmth from the noon sun and the taste of liquor upon his lips. He cracked open another bottle for good measure, longing for the burning sensation at the back of his throat.

In his mild stupor he began to wonder how many people were actually still alive. He knew of many various groups, but surely not enough to re-colonise and re-populate the planet? Caught in trance marvelling at a herd of gazelle, he entertained the idea that he was the last man on earth, overlooking humanity's destruction and the healing hand of nature as it overcame the buildings and reclaimed the land once abundant with human activity.

With a struggled dismissive wave of his hand he tried physically wiping the thought from his mind, which had grown slightly foggier, and he could feel himself beoming more vacuous with each passing moment. He knew it was dangerous being in such a state; he was vulnerable to sudden attack; but something in the air told him no harm was promised today. He chuckled a hearty chuckle, finding his loss of visual depth amusing. He peered down at the ground, watching the earth undulate, bulge and taper for several seconds before the inviting grass came rushing up to meet his face.

Joel awoke to voices off to his left. He had rolled into a steep embankment amongst a cluster of thick plantation, which had done well concealing his body. An ache erupted in his thigh, revealing that he had slept on the hard bulk of his machette. Fortuitously, the effects of a searing hangover were absent, providing him an opportunity to focus.

"-out him, we wouldn't be in this goddam mess," A man's voice hissed from above.

"It's not his fault. He's just a kid, Richard," Another replied, male also.

Joel peeled his way through the silken grass, peering just over the rise of the embankment, trying to get an impression of his intruders. One was tall and lean, hesitant around his companion, exhibiting his inferiority. The other was broad and imposing, the vast selection of holstered weaponry and body language exuding the aura of a leader.

Joel contemplated his next move. Confronting them was out of the question. Judging by the abhorrent physique of the superior and his array of deadly tools, it was best not to attack headlong. He needed another approach.

Meanwhile the two men continued their conversation.

"I don't give a shit about whether he's a kid or not. Kids steal. They lie, they cheat, and they squander, if not more so than adults." The burly man said, bunching his hands into tight fists.

Joel could see the anger building up inside him, the pursed lips, the crooked expression, the precipitation gathering on his forehead.

"Christ Richard, nobody's perfect. Give the boy a chance to make himself useful. After all, I think Philip has taken a liking to him," The taller reasoned.

"I don't care what Philip thinks. That boy is a danger to us all. If we let him stay, he could turn on us in his sleep."

Joel soundlessly removed his bag from his shoulders, and took out a prepared Molotov cocktail. His hand went for his right breastpocket, producing a set of matches. On second thought, he also removed his shotgun from its holster. The fire would be more of a distraction, the shotgun would ensure them both quick, short-pain-lived deaths. He then proceeded to strike the phosphorous head, taking care in restricting the kenspeckle scratch-like noise.

A brilliant burst of red flame emitted on the first attempt, and Joel placed the flaming match on the old wick rag, which instantly caught alight. He threw the bottle in a deadly arc, aiming to hit the space of ground between the two unaware men. Joel, not for the first time, watched in amazement and horror as the once standing men were now on the ground, writhing in unbearable pain and screaming at the top of their lungs. But their pain was temporary.

The shotgun, ever effective, silenced them at once, ceasing their howling and squirming. The explosive sound of the gunshot echoed for miles around, frightening a distant herd of gazelle, which dispersed West, into the heart of the forsaken city of Chicago. Joel walked over to the two charred corpses and stamped out the flames, dually proud and disgusted with his handiwork. Was this what the world had come to? Where people, in the absence of widespread governance and money, had to kill each other for food? He had a choice of course, but betting his life on the odds that these two men wouldn't do the same wasn't worth it. The military was only so effective in excercising legislation, and many people who escaped the quarantine zones had established groups and rules of their own to survive. Joel had been in several of such groups. Over time, he realised their mentality was the same; kill or be killed. Darwinism - may the best and most successful survive. And he was subscribed to this same dog-eat-dog philosophy.

Sometimes it was better to assume the worst in people. At least, that was how Joel had survived through many years. Three of the eight years since he left Boston had been spent in solitude, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts, most of which tended towards his past. Joel's early days of survival saw him persuading himself to find tasks with which to distract himself and ignore his thoughts; the most efficacious of such tasks being driven towards alcoholism.

It began ensuing the death of his beloved daughter and only child, Sarah. Without his brother Tommy's assistance in finding solace for his insufferable pain, Joel was certain he would have continued down a very dark and twisted path. For a while, he found consolation within, taking upon himself the need to care for his little brother. Even the drinking stopped. But then Tommy too left him, claiming a new hope, a new dream of pursual. Joel could remember their last argument all too well. "I don't ever want to see your goddam face again!" Were his brother's final words, ad verbatim. Tommy wanted to join the 'Fireflies', a seditious militia group calling for the return of all branches of governement, adverse to martial law and military junta. Joel was upset. He had taken care of his little brother, provided him food, water, a roof over his head...and it was returned with little appreciation, if not nowise. And so, a few weeks following Tommy's boorish departure, Joel gradually slipped back to the bottle. For a while he didn't go outside. What was the point? He'd thought. The Human population was in shambles, essentials such as food and water diminishing at rapid pace. Joel was surprised it'd even lasted this long.

Joel searched the bodies for useful items, accumulating revolver and rifle ammunition. Among their persons were bags full of canned food, water and tape, all undamaged from the flames. He recovered a photo from the hefty man's pocket. Even though it was burnt at the edges, he was still able to descry the face of a middle-aged woman - presumably the man's spouce. Joel had gone long enough practicing indifference to actually become so, and thus unsurprisingly felt nothing looking upon the photo. He tossed it away as he would a used cigarette, letting it trail in the wind like a memory lost in the plethura of sleep. Joel continued towards Chicago city, Westbound on a journey that never ended. Ever the sole-nomadic traveller, Joel was on the constant move, and so would have remained had it not been for Tess.

Once one of the most populous city in the United States, after New York City and Los Angeles, holding about 2.7 million residents, the city of Chicago was a place of cultural diversity, peace and prosper. The wind for which it was well remembered by now swept over the city's lonely skeletal body, gathering dust and paper and spitting them Eastward in fury. Cars ziggzaged the streets, some abandoned by their owners, others restraining unfortunate occupants who were not able to escape in time. Each turn recited stories of betrayal, misfortune, grief and lost hope. Only in the cities could you truly understand the essence of this disaster.

For Joel it was a surprise to receive hints of vehicular vapor, however before realisation that the outskirts, whereinto he was heading, were occupied by a military dictatorship force, that empowered its use with militant vehicles and sometimes even helicopters. To Joel's discerning eye, this group had done particularly poorly in securing the perimeter; a lack of guards and surrounding low-border fences absent of barbed wire and automated weaponry told him that much. It wasn't until Joel managed to get inside that he got an understanding of the situation. Even post-infection, Chicago had a large number of inhabitants who had avoided contracting the Cordyceps pandemic. This small bearable portion of Chicago city was packed.

Iron gates preceeded the entrance into the ashphalt jungle, giving way to a fenced maze that brought him to a tollgate and a manual ingress. The stern guard manning it gave Joel a scan over, confiscated his weaponry for the time he spent inside the city, and then he was granted access to the city. He stepped forward onto an open concrete foursquare, flanked by decrepit buildings and back alleyways. Almost immediately Joel was hit by a wave of unwashed human flesh; a repulsive smell that made the air from which he breathed heavy in his lungs.

Before him stood a river of body grimy hands, wide bloodshot eyes and skin that hadn't experienced a decent bath in a few days. A whole crowd had gathered in the square to see their newcomer. Most bared their teeth at the sight of him, angered by his presence. Others either stared inert or ignored him completely. He returned the writhing, hissing horde his prosaic impassive stare, unphased by the looks they gave him. Had these people ever been outside the zone?

A hand grabbed the side of his bag. Joel wrenched it free, grabbed it by the bony wrist and pulled his attacker into view. It was a young solven woman, almost his height and donned in bedraggled clothes. Joel could feel water flowing from her hand to his. At least, he hoped it was water. She wore a mixed look of anger, fright and desperation. Joel threw her hand away, and continued to the nearest tavern. The crowd followed him to the door. He quickly leapt the steps and jumped inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Tess

Withindoors, Joel received a vile effluvium of alcohol mixed with sweat. The place was dim lit by a single flickering bulb and had boarded windows, refusing the outside light to enter, consequently polluting the room in a fine layer of dust. Joel sat upon one of the barstools and kept his eyesight focused away from any prompting eyes of people looking for an easy fight. If they wanted one, they'd have to directly confront him, and Joel was sure his build was imposing enough to warn them it was not a good idea. The bartender serving behind the counter leaned forward into view, his figure previously concealed in the shadows of the overhanging oakwood beams.

"Good afternoon sir, what will it be?" He said throatily.

Joel liked him almost immediately. Straight to the point, no personal questions asked.

"Uh, one pint of lager please," Joel requested.

"Sure."

While the man disappeared, Joel snuck a quick glance at the regulars. Laughing from the alcove off to the left were a couple of rotund men with several empty glasses strewn about their table. Somewhere behind him sat a lone elderly man, nursing a half-pint of beer. Not a particularly wide variety of people, but that didn't matter.

Joel was interrupted by the plunk of glass upon table. He turned back to the counter.

"One pint of lager," said the bartender, " that'll be fourteen bucks."

Joel hesitated. Cognizant, he leaned over the counter and asked in a lowered voice, "D'you do ration cards?"

"Oh, yeah we do those as well. For the time being anyway." He checked around him before adding, "There are rumors that the government is shortchanging us, y'know? Withholding stock for control. But what can I do? I've got a family to feed."

Joel nodded sympathetically whilst slipping the bartender a ration card.

He then took his drink where he sat, fascinating himself with the way the light played on the mahogany of the table. He forced himself to take feeble sips, not out of etiquette but of the fact he hadn't tasted quality beer in a while. No point in wasting a ration card over good beer. And it was.

Suddenly, the door swung open, permitting a cool breeze from the outside that tickled the nape of Joel's neck. He twisted to face the newcomer, a woman, possibly in her late twenties, lean and muscular, her head topped with brown frizzy hair. She lithed over to the counter, ignoring oncoming looks and greeted the bartender, plonking herself on a stool next to Joel.

"Make it a bourben on the rocks Freddy," She said, her mezzo-soprano voice somewhere between a grumble and a sigh.

Joel kept his gaze down, shifting his glass between his fingers. The woman brought with her a pleasant attar that lingered in the air, nulling the stale stench of perspiration and eructation. His eyes found miniscule grooves in the wooden tabletop. He traced them furtively until he realised she was looking directly at him, a curious smile playing on her lips.

"You okay?"

Joel realised he was still recovering slightly from the deaths of the two men earlier and the agitated crowd, and his behaviour was thus affected - not just in the presence of the woman - without him really thinking about it.

"Uh, yeah... I'm fine," He replied; a weak attempt at secreting his emotions.

To his expectation, the woman detected this immediately.

"You don't look it," She said, taking a swig of her newly-placed drink. "I haven't seen you before. You an outsider?" She added.

It was only now that Joel noticed her slight Southern accent.

He nodded. "Just passing through. I'm not planning on stayin' for long."

"Why is that?"

"Let's just say it's not the type of town I'm used to."

The woman chortled, tapped the counter for a refill.

"Yeah, this isn't the most pleasant of towns, what with it being under a military dictatorship and all," She said.

"You sure got that right," replied the bartender, handing her a replenished glass.

"Cheers Freddy. You're from Texas, aren't you?" The woman addressed Joel.

"Yes, I am."

"I could recognise that accent anyday. I'm from the one star state myself."

Joel felt his eyebrows raise, in spite of his assumption about the woman's vernacular beforehand, now confirmed.

"What brings you here, of all places?" She questioned.

Joel took a sip of his rather untouched lager. "Um, I really don't know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's just...somewhere to visit, I guess."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"So how long have you been here?" Joel asked, not really interested in keeping conversation but did it out of politeness.

"Oh, about as long as you have. Arrived just this morning. I tend to travel a bit myself." She replied.

He nodded. For many, it was difficult to settle somewhere, as for him there were always triggers that reminded him of the past. But some triggers were worse than others. Joel kept the watch his daughter Sarah had given him, on the night she died as a keepsake momento, and it still worked to this day. It was a way of revitalising her presence in the back of his mind, so that he wouldn't forget. But there were also the heavy, onerous feelings associated with it, as an innocent, kind-hearted birthday gift suddenly became something of a much deeper emotional value. The watch was both a blessing and a curse, something that would remain with him until he died.

The woman then stood up, moving to leave.

"Been nice talking to you..." She waited for a name.

"Joel," He responded. "And you?"

"Call me Tess," she said.

"Ok then,"

"See ya, Texas."

With that, she left the tavern, marching swiftly out the door, her soft brown hair sweeping behind her.

Joel chuckled at her last remark. He hadn't had an extensive conversation such as this since Tommy was under his wing. But in terms of prating with women, that would've been many years before, about the time he was working as a carpenter. He'd always been cautious around women, especially his mother, whose controlling, manipulative temperament made him develop a subtle misogyny. He suspected it was part of the reason why Sammantha, Sarah's mother, left him. He was too quick to pout and argue, his anger perhaps coming across as unmitigated hatred. She'd moved to New York, and later married a successful assistant banker there. Sarah would sometimes fly out and visit her for a week, however Joel mainly did the parenting. Sammantha died as well as her daughter on the night of the outbreak - hardly making it through Madison Square before the bombs vaporised her body along with thousands of others. Her distraught father, Kenneth, who lived as a widower in Texas had brought him the news.

Joel wasn't sure what to feel. He'd still had feelings for his ex-wife, but honestly much of it was rather obscure, and mourning her death seemed a bit pretentious. He'd moved on, directing his attention towards raising Sarah. He tried as much as possible between builds to satisfy his daughter; watching her football matches, hiking through the beautiful Wichita Falls, at one point a holiday cruise to the Bahamas - just the two of them. Together.

And then, on 23rd September 2013, calamity struck. Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, a mutated parasitic fungal virus, spread from infected crops to the human species. That afternoon, the pandemic reached from coast to coast in a matter of hours. Authorities had little time to react to the outbreak. In just seven months, 64% of the global human population was decimated or infected by the virulent cordyceps virus. The speed of diffusion was surreal, as though it was an act of God. Cordyceps fungi thrived in enclosed areas such as the cities and underground subways. New York was hit first. In just three hours, San Francisco was inundated. In an attempt to escape, Joel asked for help from his brother Tommy to take Sarah and he to a safehouse outside Travis County. Unfortunately, the road there was already placed under a military blockade, and they were forced to take Highway 71 out. But everyone else had had the same damned idea. Escaping an oncoming wave of infected from the hospital nearby, they cut through a burning town, where they collided heavily with another pickup. Joel had awoken to Sarah's cries, discovering that infected were extremely close and that her leg was broken in the crash. Heading off on foot, Joel walked with Sarah cradled in his arms like when she was a baby, through a nightmarish vision of hell. Military helicopters whirred overhead, people sprinting every which way, and their chances of escape were wearing thin. Joel and Sarah were separated from Tommy whilst being chased by a hoard of infected. A hesitant soldier gunned them down. Joel was hit in the thigh, but Sarah didn't come off as well. Tommy came to the rescue, but by then it was already too late. There was no way to save Sarah. He picked her up, pointlessly reassuring her it was going to be okay, trying to stop the blood from flowing out her body. She died crying in his arms under the stars, his hands covered in her blood.

Sarah's death was incapacitating. Nothing hurt more inside than the anguish of losing his daughter. Feeling her slip away, her spirit deserting her lifeless body, into the realm of the unknown. That night, something changed in him, something that over time colloused him, permitted him to hurt and even kill for survival, something that to this day left him very few moral lines to cross.

At two minutes past three, Joel left the dramshop. He squinted in the afternoon light, regaining his balance. His shoes weighed as bags of sand as they shuffled over the floorboards, finding their way to the neighbouring bed-and-breakfast. He needed to rest if he wanted to make it to a settlement in South Dakota. He'd heard many positive things about this camp, the most captivating statement being a place for those seeking a second chance. Joel needed a second chance. At least, if he was planning on surviving for a while longer. In fact, for once he'd be able to focus on living; an ideal much more appealing than surviving.

The crowd had dispersed long ago, vanished in amongst the nondescript buildings. Joel caught sight of a military jeep moving east into an especially crowded section, followed by periodic shots of gunfire. Probably for control measures. Stifling the remnants of the rebellion. He paused, outside the entrance to the B&amp;B, listening to the fight with the ears of an experienced hunter. Gunfire continued. Pockets of people were running indoors, others were taking to the furthermost alleyways.

"What the hell," Joel said, setting off to investigate.

He needed to make sure.

Suddenly, a bomb exploded a hundred feet away, sending a brilliant fireball that lit up the sky brighter than the sun. Joel ducked instinctively, feeling the heat on his face. Cries and shouts pervaded the streets. What the fuck was going on?

Hoards of frightened people spilled into the square. Cracks of gunfire brought them down, not twenty feet away.

"Holy shit," Joel said.

A feeling of dejavou overcame him, and he was back on the night of September 23rd 2013.

What are they running from? Sarah asked him.

Joel replied, "Infected."

He ran.

How the fuck had he not put two and two together? Overcrowded streets, unhealthy practices, poor security measures - this city was in prime condition for an outbreak to occur. Infection had struck again.

He ran westward, towards the city gates.

But as he apprehended, soldiers had already blocked the way out. Avoiding panick, Joel made his way back to the tavern. As soon as he tried the door, he felt a strong force jerk it back.

"Come on, let me in!"

The wailing grew louder, closer still. Joel pushed harder against the door, using his full upper strength. It gave a little, but not enough to fit through.

"Let me in damn it! I'm not infected!" He shouted.

No response. He was running out of time.

Joel pushed further into the city, following the crowds of people fleeing for their lives. Gunfire overhead. Victims falling around him, their cries echoing throughout the city. People were on fire, their faces of terror etched onto his eyeballs forever.

Trusting his instinct, Joel ducked into a narrow alleyway. He proceeded up a flight of steps on the side of a building, seeking a higher vision from the roof. Once there, he had a full panoramic of the disaster unfolding below. People screaming, running. Gunshots and hot explosions erupting from the pockets between buildings.

A pair of military black hawks thundered overhead, sending firebombs onto the streets below. Joel watched the nightmare of September 23rd unfold before him.

He could see people, who'd once regarded this place as a sort of haven, scrambling up the surrounding walls that held them captive, before being vaporised by the onslaught of hellfire. Sacrifice the few to save the many. But Joel could see too well that a plan driven by that same mentality was doomed to fail here. The houses caught alight with horrific ease, and in minutes the whole Southern and Northern quadrants were encompassed in a blazing ring.

A cold hand grabbed his.

Joel ducked instinctively, thinking it was an infected, but when he turned, he saw it was a woman. Five foot-four, brown hair and a frown drawn. It was Tess.

"Follow me if you want to live," She said, directing him back towards the stairs.

Joel didn't hesitate on her offer. He followed her down the stairs, back through the dimly-lit alleyway, into the side door of a nondescript building. The room was dark and lit by a single flickering bulb, the naked walls scathed with mold and vegetation overgrowth. Three other men donned with gas masks were there to meet them. Tess made for the aperture in the wall large enough for a human to crawl through. Joel followed, dubious at the presence of the masked trio.

"Don't mind them, they're helping us escape," Tess reassured him.

His feet struck mud. They were in a tunnel, lit by lanterns lined on the walls, stretching further than he could see. Tess was already moving ahead of him. The masked trio followed behind.

"Wait," Joel called, "What about my stuff?"

"You want to escape or be ripped apart by infected searching for your shit? Chances are, soldiers would have taken everything."

Her words were harsh but most likely true.

"Right," Joel said.

"Don't get sentimental about your fucking possesions. Best you know that now."

Joel hated that this woman was teaching him as if he were a child. Why did he feel stupid around her?

"Here, put this on."

Tess handed him a spare gas mask.

Joel took it and slipped it around his head. Breathing through the mask was like breathing second-hand air, which felt heavy and scarily insufficient for his lungs. Joel had never been underground before. That's where the infection thrived. Warm, damp places, such as caves and subways and underground carparks, where the Cordyceps fungus could spread and burst through the concrete of the streets above.

Bombs shook the earth, sending fine mists of loose dirt upon them. Joel kept his vision trained on the path in front of him. The terrain underfoot changed constantly from concrete to mud, making the going harder.

"You're lucky I found you, Texas," Tess said, her distinctive humor returning.

"I suppose I am," Joel muttered.

It was only until now that he realised she was bleeding.

"You don't look so good though," He said. "Need help with that wound of yours?"

Tess looked at the scar on her arm and shrugged.

"It's nothing. I'll patch it up when we get out."

"And when exactly will that be?" Joel asked.

"Not long."

Below ground level, time had no meaning, even though Joel had his watch to refer to. What seemed like an hour also seemed like five minutes. The explosions became less and less audible, eventually disappearing completely. When he finally saw traces of sunlight playing on the metal bars of the gate preceeding the exit, he exhaled a small sigh of relief. The journey itself had taken only thirty minutes.

Tess stopped before the gate, turned to face him. The skin around her wound had turned an angry red. She removed her gas mask and hooked it to her bag. The other men followed her lead, revealing three similarly vapid faces. Joel did the same.

"We're not in the clear yet. What we're about to enter is no man's land. The military has certain places mined, so just follow my lead," Tess explained.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good," She said, unlocking the gate and throwing it wide. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Company

They headed out into the wasteland, ducking low and keeping amongst the cars. Buildings jutted from the concrete-mud, some had toppled on their foundations. Joel turned back to see the distant fires and the occaisional glint of a helicopter flying through the haze. That was too close. Too fucking close. The group weaved through, and Joel kept a good eye out for soldiers. Debris was strewn everywhere, quickly catching underfoot. Mud grappled at their shoes, slowing progress.

Even in the depths of the city, Joel felt exposed. What he wouldn't do to have his hunting rifle and Molotov cocktails right now. Glancing around at the others, and the lack of powerful weaponry, Joel could see they weren't prepared for a platoon attack. Or any kind of attack, for that matter. If there was one, they were sure to die.

"Hold up," Tess said, underneath a birch tree that'd burst through the sidewalk, overhanging an area of submerged road.

"Soldiers?" One of the men asked.

"No. Crocodiles."

Joel traced the adjacent bank, following Tess' pointed finger with a trained eye. Indeed, she was right; there were at least three six metre long reptiles he could see stretched along the bank, but there were bound to be more around. At the arrival of newcomers, they were at odds between slumber and interest. The smallest of the three jumped in the murky green water, disappearing beneath the surface.

"Keep to the right," Tess warned.

Slowly, the team edged to the right.

"Where'd they come from?" Joel asked.

Tess shrugged. "There was at least one zoo in Chicago back then. Perhaps they escaped. There's a shitload of them in the sewers."

The crocodile snaked its way along on an angle, keeping an eye trained on the group, making a v-shaped wake behind its snout. They cut through to the only available land-a half-flooded car park, scattered with the lambent tops of cars and rubble they would have to use to cross the marsh. They were slippery, as he had feared, from a culmination of moss and algae. Joel kept one eye fixed on the approaching reptile. One of the men raised his gun, but Tess frantically dismissed it.

"Don't make any noise. No need to advertise our whereabouts."

They set a good pace, encountering a few unfortunate victims fallen to the jaws of crocodiles. The marsh extended about twenty more yards, before it receeded to land. From here Joel could see the gleam of the tarmac, the individual pebbles. All was going well until one of the men an arm's width on his right misjudged a jump onto a coach and went under. Seconds later he re-emerged, coughing and spluttering. Joel bent down extended an arm to help him up. He forgot about the car's slippery roof and when he took the man's weight, lost his balance and hit the water.

The water was tepid and tasted of trash. He was under the blurry green for only a moment, before he broke the surface, spitting water. His ears, clogged with water, picked up a blurred shouting. He shifted to locate the noise, finding Tess, who was shouting and pointing at something behind him. Joel didn't need to turn his head to know what it was. He splashed over to a solid block of fallen masonry as fast he could, pulled himself up out of the water. Once he had a firm hold in the cracked stone, he looked for the man who'd fallen in first. Joel quickly found him staggering aboard the top of a bus a few metres away away.

He hadn't come off as well. A deep jagged scar ran from the top of his knee to the base of his shoe. The crocodile had got him. But the beast was nowhere to be seen. Tess and the other two men jumped over to assist their injured member. Joel moved on, finally reaching the opposite asphalt bank. They got their injured man to shore in expeditious time. It turned out he had sliced his leg on a piece of jagged metal, not the tooth of a crocodile. How fortunate he was to avoid the bacteria-infested fangs that would have ensured his death. The man seemed unphased by his injury, but Joel could tell at first sight it was not good. Tess produced a bunch of energy bars from her pack and handed them around. A bottle of water was also passed down, and Joel took a generous swig, despite his unquenchable cry for alcohol. He approached the man with the injured leg. Tess prepared a sterile needle and thread to stitch up his wound.

"Sorry about your leg," was all he could say.

"I'll be fine. How about you?"

"Alive and kicking," he replied.

Although Joel wasn't sure he was. Part of him was still in the Chicago QZ. Part of him was back in Boston. Part of him was in the nightmare of September 23rd. Part of him was in the pre-pandemic world of people and music and Sarah. He was never at peace. These parts of him wouldn't allow it.

"Are you a new recruit or something? Haven't seen you around before," The man said, taking a swig of the water bottle as it went around.

"No," Joel replied, surprised at his own bluntness.

"What are you then?" The man replied, handing Joel the bottle.

Joel took it graciously. The water was cold and bland, lacking the spark of alcohol he loved. "I'm just...travelling. I kinda miss it."

"Travelling? By yourself?"

"Yeah," Joel said. "Around the country."

The man wheezed out a laugh.

"Are you a thrill-seeker or something?"

"Huh?" Joel asked, perplexed.

"There aren't many friendly people left on this planet. You could find yourself in a lot of danger, especially when you're travelling alone."

Joel couldn't help noticing the irony of the man's predicament, but didn't say could've been him.

"I'm handling it. Just looking for the right place."

"Alright. I'm Lionell, by the way. This is Kyle and Charlie." Lionell pointed to his colleagues, who returned benign nods.

"Joel," Joel said.

Tess knelt at Lionell's side, inspecting his leg.

"How bad is it, doc?" he joked.

"You'll walk again," Tess replied.

She then took out a bottle of antibiotics, injected it into his leg with a hypodermic needle. The man grunted as the needle entered his skin. Without hesitation, Tess proceeded to wrap a tarp around the wound with deft fingers. Joel admired her handiwork. It would serve well as a temporary means of preventing infection and bloodflow, and could well save the whole leg, however the severity of the wound told him that it would need immediate medical attention when they got into Boston.

If they got into Boston, he reminded himself.

Joel noticed Tess had wrapped her own wound as well, done to the same standard as her makeshift tarp. He found himself wondering what they would do when they reached the Boston QZ. Of course they couldn't simply walk in through the front door, they'd be shot on sight. The Boston QZ was designed to keep people out. Perhaps they had a tunnel of sorts there too.

While they'd stopped the sun had dropped another few inches across the sky, overlayed by tongues of smoke from the distant inferno of what was once the Chicago QZ. Joel gazed at the scene, awestuck. He was lucky to still be alive, after how close he'd come to death. It had gotten too real in the Chicago QZ. The past was always catching up on him, and he supposed that was how it was always going to be.

On that thought, Tess stood and motioned for them to get moving.

"Alright, let's continue while we still have the sun."


	4. Chapter 4

Checkpoint Todd

They stopped somewhere near the city outskirts.

"Alright, this is it boys," Tess said, handing another round of water and granola bars to her crew.

"What is it?" Joel asked, perplexed.

There was nothing out of the ordinary - they were on the aterial highway leading out of the city. Cars and buses zigzagged the street. The soft wind whistled through broken windows. An acrid stench of sewerage and crocodile dung permeated the air.

"This is Checkpoint Todd. This is one of our drop off zones," Tess answered, handing Joel a water bottle.

Joel took it and swallowed with less reluctance, accepting the fact that he wouldn't probably taste alchohol for a while to come.

Tess appeared to notice his marked expression.

"Oh come on Texas, I know how hard it is to hold out. Believe me, I miss it too. Makes it easy to forget, right?"

Joel inclined his head, but said nothing.

"Tell you what, I know a guy who can find you some quality liquor back in Boston. Quite cheap, as well."

"Sounds promising," Joel said, feeling himself brighten a little.

Tess smiled back.

A cheer from the crew interrupted them. They seemed to be looking at something in the distance, North of the road opposite the Chicago QZ, which was now blocked from view by other buildings.

"What is it?" Joel asked.

"It's our lift home," Kyle replied, with a smile of relief.

When Joel followed their gaze, he could discern a military truck headed their way. Instinctively, he wanted to hide - the cause of years of living in a military dictatorship with set curfews and deathly repurcussions for disobeying the law. There was an overwhelming sense of power and authority watching these FEDRA military trucks roll through town, when he was back in Boston. This one was slightly modified, waving a green flag to show they weren't military. The front was fitted with steel rams that cleared their path with ease. He watched the big, thick tires roll up onto the sidewalk, and the ridiculous grin on the face of the driver as he shouted; "Come on! We ain't got all day!" Had he any sense of awareness, as all drivers should, he'd have known better to keep his voice down. But Joel wasn't going to argue. He just wanted to get home. Or rather, a place of familiarity. He followed the others around the back of the truck and hopped inside.

Joel hadn't been in a car in seven years. He couldn't say he missed it, but there was still a somewhat heartwarming element to it. And you needed to cling onto those moments. Because otherwise, Joel feared, the world would lose all sense and nothing would be worth living or fighting for. The truck swayed and bounced, knocking Joel's head around the plastic headrest each time he tried to repose. He realised he was exhausted. Mentally and physically. The crew around him looked it too. But not Tess. She seemed to have a resilience unapplicable to any of the men around her. She kept tending to Lionell's wound, using medical supplies from the truck. He wondered if there were any doctors with experience in surgery, who weren't military. Probably very few. But they'd know one, for sure. He watched as Tess prepared another syringe, her actions unaffected by the movement of the truck, and injected the morphine into her colleague. Slowly, the pain in Lionell's face subsided, and he relaxed into his chair. Tess caught Joel's eye.

"He'll be fine, as long as we get him to a doctor," she said, repacking the heath kit and taking a seat beside Joel.

"Yeah," Joel said.

There was an obvious tension in the truck. And the cause wasn't Lionell's injury alone. They'd escaped Chicago, managed to get a ride to Boston, all relatively okay. And by God, they were lucky. But getting into Boston was a different matter entirely. It would probably be the most difficult task of all. And despite the crew's enthusiasm, each of them knew the risks. Of course they would. Joel was only beginning to realise how leaving Boston could have been the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

"Hey, are you okay?" Tess asked, breaking his train of thought.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Yourself?"

His voice came heavy and dry, weighted with the prospect of what lay ahead.

"Could be better. But that applies to all of us, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Joel said.

In many ways, the world of humans was a much greater place. Despite the contention of war, global warming and natural disaster, there was a place where you could experience true happiness. Where things made sense, where he had a career, where he was a father, where he could rely on security and order, where he could see everything, right in front of him. Having that torn from his life all in less than two hours was irrefragably the worst experience, an indefinite vastness of loss and anguish. Surviving was unbearable. Living was unbearable. The world may as well have not existed. Joel looked back on his early years of survival with contempt. He despised himself. Couldn't even bring himself to bury Sarah. On that turbulent night he shouldered her lifeless body, fueled by a sense of anger and fear, and ran as far as his legs would take him, and then some. He carried her as far as the next town, convinced her spirit would return when the nightmare ended. But it never did. Never had. Never will. For months he was frozen in a melancholic state, locking himself indoors, hating the world, people, himself, and not a second of it was spent sober. Of course it wasn't. He was too weak and pathetic to face the severity of the truth with a clear conscience. But over time, he had learned to accept the truth. The old world was dead. Fellow people were competitors for survival. Sarah could never be brought back. And he'd have to fight for every minute he got to live. Because, that's what matters most in this world.

In more ways than he was willing to admit, his younger brother Tommy had handled it a lot better than he. For one thing, he wasn't dependent on alchohol for emotional diversion, as Joel was. Then again, Tommy wasn't the one whose daughter died in his arms. He didn't even have children. At least, before the outbreak. They'd been separated for so long, he could well have met someone and had a couple of kids. He told himself he didn't care.

"Did I lose you again, Texas?"

Tess' light humor drew him back from the depths.

"Yeah, sorry. Kinda zoned out," He apologized.

Joel squinted in the warm glaze of the setting sun.

"Don't be. We all have our moments."

"Yeah."

Although Joel didn't fully understand what she meant.

"You're not one to talk much huh?" Tess said.

Joel noted the lightness in her tone and discredited the thought she was questioning his integrity.

"Well, I've got a lot on my mind. I must admit, I'm not too comfortable around people."

"I kinda got that impression from the bar in Chicago."

Yeah, that's right. The bar. Joel wondered how it looked now, the flames still burning, a scant few dying to embers, helicopters circling in dramatic arcs, hundreds of bodies torn to pieces by infected.

He looked to the other men in her crew, who to his surprise were not taking any interest in their conversation. But then, what reason had they to do so? All everyone could think about, with the exception of the maniacal driver at the wheel of their truck, was what had been, and what was to come.

"You know, I'm glad I found you. I'm sorry about your pack. Really. If you want, we can hook you up with some equipment," Tess offered.

"No, that's fine. You don't need to do that. You were right, the pack doesn't matter. Just got a bit attached to it, is all."

"Well, that's okay. But tell me one thing; what d'you plan to do when you get back into Boston?"

If I get back into Boston, Joel added, with a note of severity.

"Um, that's a good question," He said. "Probably pick things up where I left off, I s'pose."

"Tell you what, then. If you'd prefer to load boxes off crates, that's fine. But if you want to make a living in this world, you can't be weak or dependent. You've gotta be willing to do the stuff others can't, or won't. You seem strong enough to hold your own. And we could honestly use an extra pair of hands. Plus, there's a reasonable payment benefit. Not like the shitty jobs for the military. I'm sure that'll get you all the alchohol you need."

Joel took a moment to contemplate. They sat in silence as the truck undulated over the uneven terrain.

"Alright. I'm in."


	5. Chapter 5

Your hands are shaken cold

From the weight upon your conscience

Your hands have been deciders of life and death

You're unbalanced, braincracked

Quick to kill from a mellowed state

The taunting whispers of fretful trees above

Tell stories of the past

Your twisted past

Guilt encrypted into every groove

Of the gun you holster,

Pictures of your loved ones,

Cortices of your infected brain

The living air is a poisionous force

It drives you some,

Erodes you at most

It drives you to kill

Erodes your mind

Unbalanced in your hands is a brain of two halves

The half that loves,

Forgives,

Forgets

And the half that hates,

Kills,

Regrets

More often than not the latter holds true

Appealing to your better nature

Doesn't bear much fruit

There's a sense of withdrawl from you

A wall that prevents emotional attachment

Built up over years of looting, killing and deceiving

Being on both sides to survive

Mourning the loss of your daughter

It's beginning to show through

Burdened with hands of cursed blood

You sway toward insanity

May you try to drink to forget

But you cannot ever wash these cursed hands clean


	6. Chapter 6

Sewers

Joel awoke to the squeal of the truck's brakes. Everything was pitch black - he couldn't see a damn thing. In a moment of panic he felt weight on his shoulder, but the soft exhale told him it was Tess' head. She woke and sat up almost instantly, but not before he was able to mull over the light tickle of her hair against his neck.

"Why have we stopped?" He asked her.

"This is as far as we can go." She replied, somewhat laconically. Then to everybody, "Flashlights out."

Joel noted that there were cabin lights in the truck, but turning them on would probably risk the chance of them being spotted, by military or bandits, or even infected.

Taking the weight of her hands on her knees, Tess stood. The crew's lights were lowered to the cabin floor, to avoid reflecting off the windows. One of the men - Kyle, he recognised - handed him a spare flashlight.

He heard Tess' voice, "Let's go."

Joel nodded thanks to Kyle, then followed them all out of the truck. For the second time that day, his feet struck concrete. Joel had a quick look around. They were in a suburban town, near the inner city, where in the distance he could see the military floodlights, which lit up the jagged, bomb-ridden landscape in a harsh blue. Neighbouring houses were small, mostly single-storied, and dead quiet. The driver of the truck pulled away from the sidewalk and trundled off in the opposite direction. Despite the starkness to which they were all accustomed, everybody kept low, avoiding shards of glass and china - anything that would generate more noise than a creaking floorboard.

It seemed as though this little town was frozen in a moment in time. The air was cold, but without a breeze, and despite twenty years of absent significant carbon emission, it stank of garbage and soot. Of course, some smells lasted longer than others. For instance, the smell of burning flesh from thousands upon thousands of infected and non-infected people when the military started dropping bombs on the city nine years ago. Car doors were still left open by the owners who'd fled them. Utility poles lay flat over the ground, powerlines coiled over the road like black snakes. It looked like nobody had been through here for a long time.

For some reason he thought of home. Not the Boston QZ, but home, home. Austin, Texas. He thought about what happened the night of the outbreak. The night he lost Sarah.

The first he'd heard it was from Tommy, who called sometime during the very early hours of the morning.

"Listen Tommy, by talking 'about it in the morning', I meant -"

Tommy interrupted him. "This ain't about the contractor. Turn on the TV."

"Why? What is it?" Joel asked, sitting up on the bed.

"Just turn on the goddamn TV, Joel," He ordered.

Joel obliged, switched on the set.

Some newsman was going on about the nation-wide pandemic that was now rumored to have spread into Austin. He said there were reports of those infected with the virus who attacked anyone nearby, and tended to bite those not infected. '-this could be a potential military situation - I am getting information from a source that we should prepare for an evacuation announcement within the next few hours. In the meantime, remain indoors, make sure all windows and doors are locked. Stay tuned for more details - '

"I see it," He told Tommy.

"What d'you want to do?" He asked, his voice was nervous but Joel could tell he was prepared to do anything he could.

"I-I don't know. Just stay put until we work out what the hell's going on."

Glass shattered somewhere outside his bedroom window.

Tommy heard it too; "What was that?" He said.

"I don't know. I'll go check it out."

"You be careful, brother."

"I will. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Joel hung up. He swung off his bed and headed down the stairs, into the living room.

He switched on a few lights as he went, which threw long shadows all around him. The house was dead quiet - only the slight creak of the floorboards beneath him. Joel dismissed the sense of fear growing inside him in the distilled silence. As he passed the sliding doors leading to the patio, he saw a beer bottle, recently smashed, on the concrete steps. He recognised the bottle from the lable. It was Jimmy's beer.

Only he'd buy that supermarket crap. He threw on the patio lights, flooding everything outside within a four-metre circumference in a pool of yellow light. The concrete glinted on the surface. Joel caught a glimpse of movement and had a brief moment of panic - before realising it was nothing more than his own reflection. He opened the patio doors and headed out into the night.

It was very much like the town he was in now - except for the skeletons and shattered glass. Houses were still sound asleep, but for how long, he didn't know. Perhaps the people were waiting. But waiting for what? If Joel was betting any money, it would be without a doubt on the people of Austin to pack their bags and leave at even the slightest rumor of a disease outbreak. Even if they didn't, what if the military said nothing? Chances were probably that they wanted to shut the media up and keep everyone penned in their cages. It made them easier to deal with, in definition; both the advisory and perjorative. Joel knew that was a big fucking chance.

Or had they already gone?

Breaking glass. Another bottle smashed. He located the noise behind the fence. Something groaned softly. A horrid smell permeated the air. Perhaps vomit, or rotting flesh.

"Jim-Jimmy, is that you?" Joel called, hardly able to hear his voice over the throbbing of his ears.

Silence.

Then came from beyond the fence, not two feet away from his face, the howl of a creature from another world. The intonations in the vocals were discernably those of his neighbour, but they were combined with and obscured by wet gurgling and deep-throated chuffing. Joel backed slightly away from the fence.

"Jimmy, ar-are you alright?"

A growl in response. Jimmy sounded like he was in immense pain. Through the gaps in the fence, Joel saw what had happened to his neighbour.

"What the hell?" Joel murmured.

His clothing was torn in several places and streaked in blood. His eyes were bloodshot, his sickly pale skin was covered with bumps of red swelling and blood trickled from his nose. In the backyard he could see Jimmy's wife, in much the same state as her husband. Their two kids lay on the lawn, whose stomachs were ripped open and intestines snaking out over the grass, the skin of their faces patchy and bloody. A crate of his supermarket beer sat beside him. Joel realised Jimmy was probably throwing the bottles trying to get attention - just before he turned. Eight years later, to the present, Joel knew that producing vocalisation and speech during the later stages of becoming infected, such as in his neighbour's case, was simply impossible. His wife must have contracted the virus and brought it home. She was the one who'd mutilated and devoured her kids. And poor Jimmy could do nothing to stop it. His neighbour retched heavily, coughing up about a pint of blood.

Under his breath, Joel said, "Jesus. Oh, this is bad..."

He quickly turned back to the house. The crunch of gravel underfoot was excruciatingly loud. His heartbeat came fast and hard, the pulse in his neck and temple throbbing furiously. Joel stormed into the room through the office, and slammed the door shut.

"There you are."

"Sarah," He said.

His body relaxed slightly at the sight of her but the tension in his voice did not waver. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah answered.

Joel went over to his office desk and began rummaging through the drawers for his handgun.

"Has anyone come in here?"

"No. Who would come in here?"

Bingo. He unboxed the Charter Arms Bulldog, and loaded the cartridges.

"Don't go near the doors. Just...Just stand back there."

"Dad, you're kinda freaking me out. What's going on?"

"It's the Coopers. Somethin' ain't right with 'em. I-I think they're sick."

"What kinda sick?"

Something hit the door in a wild yell.

"Jesus," exclaimed Joel. "Jimmy!"

"Dad?" Sarah called.

"Honey, c'mere. C'mere," He reassured her. "It's okay..."

Jimmy continued to pound the door.

"Jimmy!"

In just a third attempt, his neighbour broke the glass and stumbled through. Jimmy's hands landed on the glass, and came away shredded and bloody. But the wild, angry glare in his eyes told him he didn't care. By all accounts, he probably didn't even feel it. "Jimmy, just stay back." Jimmy got to his feet and charged at Joel in rage. Joel kept Sarah behind him with his arm, and trained the gun on his neighbour.

"Jimmy, I am warning you. Don't!"

There was no sign of any self-restraint. He had only one option. Joel shot Jimmy squarely in the face.

"Go. Go." He told Sarah.

"Y-you-you shot him..."

Joel grabbed his daughter by the shoulders and knelt down to her height.

"Sarah," He said.

"...I saw him this mornin'," She continued, speaking between panicked breaths.

Joel stared into her eyes, drawing focus from her own. "Listen to me. There is something bad going on. We have got to get out of here. Do you understand me?"

Sarah stifled a sob.

"Yeah."

Headlamps swung into view, glinting through the front window.

"Tommy. C'mon," Joel said. "C'mon."

"Okay."

Hand in hand, they exited their house throught the front door. Joel considered gathering emergency supplies, but he denied himself the urge. They needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Tommy said, "Where the hell you been? You have any idea what's goin' on out there?"

"I got some notion," Joel replied.

"Holy shit. You got blood all over you."

Addressing Sarah, Joel said, "C'mon baby. Go on in there." He helped her into Tommy's 4WD. Then to his little brother, "It ain't mine. Let's get out of here."

"They're saying that half the people in the city have lost their minds."

Impatient, Joel was not willing to stand about, vulnerable, discussing the problem at hand. He would do so when they found some place safe and quiet. And he was hell-bent to escape the home in which he just shot a man he knew and to an extent, even trusted. In front of his twelve-year old daughter, too, as if that wasn't almost certainly a permanent image sewn into her brain. It was his first murder. However, unlike any of his subsequent cold-blooded killings, this was his first and most justified. Which ironically made it all the more difficult to forget.

"Can we just please go?"

"Some sort of parasite or somethin'," Tommy continued, sliding into the driver's seat. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Later."

They backed out of the driveway and headed up the road. It felt wrong to leave so much behind but they hadn't much of a choice. With no apparent quarantine zone they had to assume the worst, that the military were closing off the city to try and contain the infection. It was only a matter of time before shit really hit the fan, and any opportunity of escape became improbable. And what with the broken glass from the sliding door, the house wasn't exactly safe.

Tommy said, "Hey, Sarah. How you holdin' up, honey?"

"I'm fine," She replied, and Joel believed her. What she'd been through, most of the other kids her age would be having a major panic attack. But not her. "Can we hear what's on the radio?" She asked.

Tommy answered, "Yeah, sure thing."

"Thanks."

Tommy tuned the radio, but it produced only static.

He sighed heavily, "No cellphone, no radio - yeah, we're doin' great. Minute ago, newsman wouldn't shut up."

"They say where to go?" Joel asked.

"He said, ah...Army's puttin' up road blocks on the highway. No gettin' into Travis County."

"That means we need to get the hell out. Take 71."

"71 - that's where I'm headed."

After a brief silence, Sarah asked, "Did they say how many are dead?"

"Probably a lot. Found this one family all mangled inside their house-"

"Tommy." Joel interrupted him.

"Right," Tommy checked himself. "Sorry."

They approached an intersection where a car had gone through a power pole at high speed, the sparks flying.

"Jesus Christ, how did this happen?"Joel uttered in bewilderment.

"They got no clue. But we ain't the only town. At first they were saying it was just the South. Now they're going on about the East Coast, the West Coast... Holy hell," Louis' farm came into view - a once lively farm house was now ablaze in a destructive inferno, flames licking the night sky. "That's Louis' farm. I hope that son of a bitch made it out."

Joel replied, "I'm sure he did."

"Are we sick?" Sarah asked.

"No. No, of course not," Joel snapped, although the truth was he wasn't sure.

"How do you know?"

"They said it's just ah, people in the city. We're good," Tommy answered.

"Didn't Jimmy work in the city?" Sarah asked.

Joel felt a pang of guilt at the mention of his dead neighbour's name.

"That's right, he did," Was his response. "We're fine. Trust me."

"Alright."

He could recount the night of September 23rd down to every detail he could imagine. Hell, it was no surprise. He lived it everyday.

"Hey," Kyle put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Joel snapped back into focus. He saw that the group had stopped nearly ten metres away, where the road twisted down into an abyss of foliage and rubble.

"What's the hold up?" Kyle asked.

Joel shook his head clear.

"It don't matter," He said.

"Alright, come on."

Joel followed him back to the group. Flashlights washed over the shrubbery, unveiling the carnage below. Crumbling mortar and masonry lay in uneven tiers, upon a rough thirty degree incline several stories downwards. Cars stuck out from the rubble like partially submerged toys in a sandbox. Skyscrapers stood on tired foundations, visibly trembling in the low temperatures. The stench of burned rubber and tarmac had grown significantly.

Tess looked up at Joel. "Oh, how nice of you to join us. I was beginning to think you were having second thoughts on my offer," She said candidly.

Joel, ever the man of few or no words, shook his head in response. He could tell the others were beginning to suspect there was a growing chemistry between Tess and he.

"Alright. I suggest we go two-by-two. Make sure of your footing, and watch for falling debris. And keep as quiet as possible. The last thing I want is a firefight between us and a gang of wasps, let alone a nest of infected."

Joel turned to Kyle.

He asked him, "Wasps?"

"Bandits," he replied.

At the very sound of the word, Joel felt himself quiver slightly. Unlike fireflies or the military, bandits were rogue. You could expect them to be equipped with anything, from high-grade weapons stolen from the military to knives, stones and baseball bats. Some were very tribal, and fought to the last man. Others fled when the numbers became thin. The thing was, they were mostly after very particular items. Just as non-commercial hunting in the pre-pandemic world, bandits would kill without consultation, for nothing more than a pair of good shoes. Joel knew this because he used to be one of them. Living under a military dictatorship wasn't insouciant in the least. Forget the infection - a lot of unbeknowing residents were blacklisted. Despite the drastic measures put in place by militants, crime rate - in Boston, at least - had increased, most of it at the hands of the Fireflies. That's why Joel had left, in the hope that maybe he would find a group independent from military willing to take him onboard. And find one he had. Three, in fact. Within the space of four years Joel had killed more people than he could count on his fingers and toes. Soldiers, survivors, Fireflies - he didn't care.

It's either them or me. I don't have a choice. I want to survive.

That's what he told himself every night, after every waking nightmare, every time he began to question his sanity. Living with such groups had taught him that only the fittest and strongest survived, that reverting to basic instincts and working alongside others with the same motivation to achieve a real cause, was the very definition of life. The military wasn't a real cause. Back there he'd been holding onto something - an immature belief that maybe, just maybe, the world would eventually sort itself out, and everything would go back to normal. But in all his time surviving, Joel hadn't exactly been renowned for his loyalty. And it wasn't for any other reason than avoiding something that reminded him of Sarah, or the events of the nightmare on September 23rd. Perhaps now things would be different.

Not that it mattered, though. They'd been lucky enough to come this far, but Joel knew there was a very high chance he'd die within the next few hours.


End file.
